«I want to apologize again for the three-day delay of the event due to bad weather. But you know, it’s one of the risks when you try to host a runway show in Central Park. I’m truly proud of the spring collection I’m about to present for the first ti, and for a young designer like , it’s the fulfillnt of a dream—sorry for the trembling voice, I’m really nervous. But now, let’s welco our amazing models, who I’m sure will make my beloved creations shine.»
Oh... so she’s the designer behind that stunning blue dress Brianne will be wearing?
She can’t be older than twenty, yet she’s already debuting her first collection in the heart of New York?
She’s bound to have a bright career, no doubt about it.
It’s almost evening when the show officially starts and the first model steps onto the catwalk.
That’s thanks to Katerina’s help, a certain financial push, and a bit of luck—a journalist dropped out at the last mont, and I managed to grab the vacant spot he left behind.
It’s a good thing Elaine once forced to buy those ultra-elegant suits—everyone here is dressed in top-tier refinent, wearing ridiculously expensive clothes. Except for three—a small group made up of a guy, a girl, and an older man sitting in the back rows, yet impossible not to notice.
It’s not that they’re dressed badly, but even an untrained eye like mine can tell they don’t belong among the rest of the audience—their clothes pretend to be fancy, but it’s obvious they were bought in so low-end outlet.
Anyway... I’m pretty disappointed.
Not because of the clothes, but because of the so-called models—or at least, that’s what they dare to call themselves.
Walking toothpicks with legs, no ass, no tits, faces so hollow they look like skulls with hair—if I were to sleep with one of them, I’d almost be afraid of hurting her by pushing too hard.
And yet, the comnts I hear around are full of praise, both for the clothes and for the ones wearing them.
Bah, if this is beauty for them... all the better—it’s paving the way for Brianne’s triumphant entrance.
I’m certain that when it’s her turn, these incompetents will drop from their seats, fainting like it’s the Stendhal syndro.
Anyway, the two longest hours of my life.
Runway shows are even more boring than I thought...
I figured ti would fly—I an, two hours of hot chicks in skimpy dresses walking right in front of you shouldn’t be that bad... if only there were actually hot chicks to look at.
Not to ntion the cara flashes—damn, they burn my eyes.
And finally, after an endless wait, the mont arrives.
The young designer, visibly awkward but euphoric, steps out again, greeted by loud applause.
«I hope you’ve enjoyed what you’ve seen so far as much as I enjoyed creating it. We’ve finally reached the highlight of the collection, and I wanted to celebrate it with sothing special. When I was planning the order of the show, I had a fixed idea in mind: I wanted soone completely unrelated to the fashion world to wear the centerpiece of my first collection. I wanted the ssage to be loud and clear—these are clothes for everyone, and they don’t need a professional model to stand out, but can be worn by anyone, even a high school student. On that note, I’d like to thank my dear friend Katerina for finding the perfect model for this purpose—the exact girl I had in mind when I designed this dress. A big round of applause for the jewel of this year’s spring collection, and above all for the beautiful girl wearing it: Brianne Leviantis.»
And when, right after the announcent, the curtain rises on Brianne...
Dead silence.
All the murmurs that had filled the show co to an instant stop.
No one expected such beauty... not even .
Yeah, strange, right?
Out of everyone here, I’m the one left most speechless, even though I’d already seen her in that dress before.
Back at the boutique, Brianne was simply wearing a dress, but now it’s different.
Her long platinum-blonde hair is neatly styled and tied into a ponytail.
The makeup is light but does its job, and a blue lipstick colors her thin yet full lips.
Matching high heels make her look even taller than she already is.
Brianne has never been into makeup—I’ve always seen her natural, even at social events—and seeing her like this makes her seem like a completely different girl.
There’s not much else to say, except that she’s the most beautiful girl in the world. Period.
And it seems the journalists and everyone else share the sa thought—their comnts are focused more on Brianne’s unreachable beauty than on the dress itself.
The mont she steps onto the runway, I notice she’s searching for with her eyes, slightly anxious, but she instantly relaxes when our gazes et and I give her a small encouraging wave.
She nods slightly and smiles at , while, as planned, she walks without the graceful steps of the previous models—who clearly have more experience—but with such a natural and believable air that she actually looks even better, drowned in a sea of flashes.
She tries to appear impassive, yet her nervousness and excitent are so obvious that it’s impossible not to notice.
I can’t take my eyes off her, even if I wanted to.
All day I’ve been anticipating the mont I could finally see Brianne wearing sothing sexy again—and that low-cut dress with a high slit up the thigh is as sexy as it gets.
And yet, it’s not her amazing chest—perfectly sized to avoid looking disproportionate—or her toned, smooth thighs that keep my eyes glued to her.
It’s her sweet smile, awkward yet at the sa ti happy and excited like I’ve never seen before, even though she’s trying to hide that whirlwind of feelings behind the classic stoic mask of professional models.
To get this second-row seat, reserved for close relatives of the models, I had to insist that Brianne is my girlfriend—a claim Katerina herself confird, since at the ti she had genuinely mistaken us for a couple.
Now, imagine how I feel knowing that everyone here believes that this angelic-bodied girl, this mix of beauty and elegant sensuality who captured everyone’s attention the mont she stepped onto the runway, is my girlfriend.
Yes, I can feel the weight of their envy, and if it weren’t for my elegant outfit, those envious looks would probably be accompanied by less-than-kind comnts.
Then, sothing happens.
Brianne reaches the end of the runway, ready to turn and walk back with her back to the audience, when...
...she freezes.
She’s seen sothing, or soone.
Her eyes are wide, scared, her lips trembling as if about to say sothing, yet no sound cos out.
She’s paralyzed.
People murmur, wondering what’s going on, and I’m the first to have no idea.
Maybe a sudden panic attack?
Strange, though—just a mont ago everything was fine...
I follow her gaze, trying to figure out what she’s seen that could have shaken her so badly.
I’m not entirely sure, but it seems her eyes are fixed on those three dressed far less elegantly than the rest—the guy, the girl, and the old man in the last row—whom she could probably only see once she reached the edge of the runway.
At that mont, the old man stands up and points a finger at her.
I have a bad feeling sothing terrible is about to happen.
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